"Well, I'm sure we can fix that here in a moment. Whenever Skulduggery deigns to find us more fascinating than seashells." He's still teasing. For all that Skulduggery has tried to distance himself from the conversation, there's only so much privacy a five foot length of chain will allow them.

Ravel notices the shift in her expression, the look of concern, but he doesn't know what to attribute it to. The sling on his left arm? The chain on the right? The dark circles under his eyes, which have only gotten worse now that he's been shackled to Skulduggery for weeks?

He smiles for her anyway, although there's a touch of wariness to it now. "That it was. Erskine Ravel." He takes the proffered hand with his right, the shackled hand, and lifts it to his lips. Beautiful ladies with wings certainly deserve a kiss on the hand, not just an inelegant shake, and he'll defy Skulduggery to claim otherwise if the skeleton bothers to kick up a fuss about it.

"Dove, if I remember correctly?"